Sunny Side Up
by thegirlwiththedreams
Summary: The curse of the Cameron genetics leave Abby unable to make breakfast before an op. She figures her day is about to get even worse when (handsome) Agent Townsend joins the picture. But, it turns out the suave British agent is actually a good cook! But Townsend's ability to make omelettes is nothing compared to other things she realizes-like the fact she may have a "tiny" crush...


_Hey everyone! This is a little oneshot inspired by the prompt "__omelets" in the GGFC. Hope you like, and remember, please favorite and review! :)_

Abby Morgan could not cook.

Yes, this was true. She could diffuse a time bomb with a bottle of mustard, knew the correct way to spear someone with a shish kebab, and she knew how to turn the deliciousness that was fro-yo into a deadly weapon. Yet sadly, she was incapable of cooking an omelet.

It was strange the way the world made things work.

She was set for a dangerous hit-and-run exercise in about an hour, but she had not gotten dressed, put her equipment on, or, even, horror of horrors, brushed her teeth yet. Abby's personal philosophy on spywork was that to do a good job, at least in her case, it was absolutely essential to have minty fresh breath. No matter what happened, if there was even one hit of unsightly garlic on her breath, she would botch the job faster than a rabbit punch.

As Abby's mind flashed through all these things, she had let herself drift off from the task at hand. That was when she yelped in surprise as she noticed that the runny mess that would not cook had turned in the space of a few moments, into a dark, charred pile.

"Dang it!" she yelled. For what seemed like hours, she had been trying to get the eggs to cook. Now, as she turned her back for seconds, the eggs had flown past eating point all the way to the vomit-inducing state.

In a flurry of anger, she ran over the couch in her tiny hotel room, and beat the pulp out of it. She was busy cursing the Cameron genetics for their inaptitude to cook, when she heard an irked British voice say in a condescending tone, "Cameron, what in the queen's name are you doing? You do_ know_ we have a mission in an hour, correct?"

Abby turned bright red. She had no idea if it was anger that _he _was in her room, disbelief at how he had gotten in (the locks were made of a material impervious to picking), or embarrassment at being caught in a rather unattractive pair of sweatpants and an oversized CIA tee, with her face wild and her hair matted. Maybe it was all three, but no matter what, Abby was annoyed. Very annoyed.

"TOWNSEND!" she screeched. "GET YOUR BRITISH ARSE OUT OF MY ROOM BEFORE I GO ALL REVOLTIONARY WAR ON YOU!" She went to push him out of the door, but he merely sidestepped her. She was not her best in the morning.

Townsend strolled about in the gray peacoat he was to be wearing for the op. She hated to admit it, but he looked every part the suave British spy that he was. Any woman would've died if they saw Townsend's chiseled features and bright, alert blue eyes. She remembered that she had. But any woman would've come right back up from the spot they had died on, and slapped Townsend's face when they heard his mouth open. Townsend was rude, calculating, and honest to a fault. So, basically he was everything that Abby was, only in a tall, handsome form. A _very _tall, handsome form. Not like she'd ever tell him that. His head was already as big as is.

The man surveyed Abby's hotel room with a look of distaste. "Drapes opened. What an amateur mistake, Miss Cameron. People could easily look in and see you rifling through confidential documents. A fantastic way to blow your cover, I must applaud."

Abby rolled her eyes. "It wasn't an accident, Townsend. I just enjoy sunshine, that's all. Like _normal_ people. I don't even know if you're human sometimes."

Townsend gave her a sideways look. "I am, if you're worried. The Mongolian police force had me tested after I survived seven bullets near the heart. They were happy to report I'm quite human, and I hope you rest assured."

Abby sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "It was a rhetorical question."

Suddenly, Townsend's nose wrinkled in distaste. "By all the royal crown jewels, what on _earth_ is that disgusting smell?"

Abby walked over to the stove where the eggs were completely blackened. "Omelets, _a la _Cameron. Registered as a lethal weapon in over ten countries!" She smiled cheerily, and then frowned. It was too early.

Townsend came over to stand next to her. She couldn't help but notice that his arm gently brushed her shoulder. "I don't even think you can classify this as cooking. This is just…pitiful."

Abby cocked an eyebrow. "Think you can do better?"

Townsend gave her a nod. "Actually, yes. Not like that's too difficult a challenge. Tell you what. You go get ready, and by the time you're done, I promise you you'll have an edible breakfast."

Abby thought for a second, then nodded. "Go right ahead. Though, just make sure not to add any poison. I have an antidote to 95% of all-known ones, and, besides, you need me on your job today. If you lose me, your chance of getting killed by Amazonian warriors is fairly high."

Townsend gave her a serious look. "I believe both of those to be quite true. Plus, even I wouldn't stoop that low."

Abby gave him a grin. "Oh, you are _quite _the gentleman. Every girl must dream of a boy like you."

Townsend gave her a saucy wink, one she hadn't thought him capable of. "Oh yes. I'm _quite_ the favorite among the ladies."

Abby had by now reached the bathroom. She pretended she hadn't heard him. She wasn't quite sure how to answer him.

After a quick shower, combing of her hair, and getting changed into her equipment for the mission, she wandered into the main area. She had wanted to annoy Townsend by waiting till the last minute to eat, agonizing the planner in her comrade, but the delicious smell had overwhelmed her.

She sat down at the table quietly; Townsend was absorbed in cooking and had apparently not noticed her arrival into the main area. However, after a few seconds, he noticed her presence, and bustled over with a plate laden with wonderful-looking food. She noticed discreetly that he had taken off the jacket and rolled up the sleeves of his button-down to reveal taut, strong-looking arm muscles.

"Here you go!" he said in a decidedly cheerful voice. She had just started in on the omelet, which was absolutely delicious, bursting with goat cheese, peppers, and little pieces of salmon when she noticed that he had dropped off a glass of orange juice next to her plate. She went to take a sip and was astounded.

"This is sparkling iced orange juice! I love this stuff! Where did you get it?" As far as she remembered, there was none in the fridge.

Townsend pointed out the door. "Just down the hallway. There's a little vending machine. I remembered you saying that you liked it, so…" he shrugged his shoulders.

Abby was speechless. She had told Townsend about that a year ago! How had he remembered? "I hate to say this, but you really got me in this case! The food is delicious! Wherever did you learn to cook like this?"

Townsend gave her a wry grin. "Now, now, Miss Cameron. A good spy doesn't give away all his secrets, does he?" She tried not to notice the fact he was so close, that the words sounded like breaths in her ears, and this lips were curved in a beautiful smile, and that he looked, right now, like someone she _really_ wanted to kiss. And she had no idea if that was good or bad.

Before she could choose, he was gone, and he was at the door. Right before he left, he turned briefly, as if struggling to pick words. Then he said,

"Miss Cameron?"

"Yes?" she said, trying not to sound too feeble.

"I had a nice morning with you. Just in case you wanted to know." And with that, Edward Townsend was off.

As the door swung shut, Abby sighed and cupped her head in her hands. "Men. _Oy vei_."


End file.
